Four
by Joyful-Sound
Summary: Four founders. Four personal treasures. Four drabbles glimpsing into what it took for each object to find its way into the hands of each respective founder. Complete.
1. Gryffindor's Sword

**As much as I used to hate drabbling, I now have been converted into an avid fan. These four drabbles, three of which were written for challenges a month or so ago, showcase how much fun I had while exploring their world. I typed them in modern English, more for readability's sake than anything else, but I hope that you enjoy reading them as much as I did writing them. **

**First up, Gryffindor! **

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><p>"You must hide it well. No goblin will let this slip past without putting up a valiant fight."<p>

A creature, no more than half of the height of the man standing before him, ran his hand over the blade once more, admiring his handiwork. His every instinct told him to run away from the man, taking such a prize with him. Unfortunately for the creature, he was a goblin – a goblin whose life was indebted to the wizard standing before him.

"Thank you, Ragnuk," the man replied, his fingers curling around the rubies at the hilt. "I will take care of it."

The sound of a horse trotting by outside – most likely from the Muggle village down the road – faded in and out as it passed the little shack on the side of a hill. The two in the room fell quiet as they waited for all noise to cease. There could be enemies anywhere.

After the two were sure that they were once again alone, Ragnuk watched the wizard carefully pull a hat out of the pouch at his hip. The man quietly cast a spell on the hat that let him slip the sword easily inside. The goblin observed the name GRYFFINDOR disappear, letter by letter, between the folds of the tattered fabric.

"You are a very noble wizard," the goblin added before the man turned to leave. "Not every man is willing to rescue a goblin from the reign of a fellow man."

The man paused, locking his gaze with that of the goblin.

"The tension that Muggles feel towards those of magical blood are stronger than the forces that separate wizard from creature," Gryffindor replied carefully, as not to rock the delicate balance of their relationship. "We must set aside our boundaries if we want to preserve the magical world."

Silence grew between the two.

Words of peace aside, Ragnuk knew this man still did not trust him. No matter, the feeling was mutual. A goblin was not made to rely on a wizard. However, he knew that his debt would never be truly paid until he provided the dueler with compensation for such bravery. A goblin does not leave debts unpaid – Ragnuk was no exception.

"Well, then, good luck, fellow warrior," Ragnuk bowed his head slightly, one eye still on the pouch. "Take care of my work."

Godric Gryffindor smiled, "I will. Only those truly worthy of the price it took to receive this shall be able to acquire its power."

With those words, uttered in such concrete confidence, the young man strode out of the shack. A few mutterings later, and his frame disappeared into the sunlight streaming through the door.

Only time would tell if the wizard that had saved Ragnuk's life would actually hold true to his assurance.

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><p><strong>Constructive critique is always welcomed and usually gets a reply.<strong>

** Next up is Hufflepuff! It's a little bit fun, a little bit silly... a perfect place for the friendliest of the founders. **


	2. Hufflepuff's Cup

**Ah, Hufflepuff. This is the most lighthearted and humourous of the bunch. This was the only one I didn't make for a challenge, so the other two are already written. I ask if you have strong opinions on if you want Ravenclaw or Slytherin next, let me know!  
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><p>"Alas!"<p>

A woman's vibrant words echoed across the high ceilings of her friend's chamber. Her cheeks were rosy, certainly due to the ample amounts of amber liquid sitting in her glass. She stood, bowing slightly to the woman across from her.

"I has been decided that I will never be as lovely of a cook as my dear friend Helga."

The other woman, curvier than her friend and cheeks just as rosy, giggled with merriment.

"Oh, Rowena, you flatter me so."

The two women's eyes met and they burst into laughter once more. Helga finished her drink in a few more sips, fighting back more giggles from their night.

"We must do this more often – I'll bet Godric can find some more of this lovely drink before the students return from break, do you not think?" Rowena smiled, pouring her another round.

Helga took the handle of the cup, swirling the liquid a few more times. "Well, it is a shame that I do not have proper objects to drink out of. These seem to get smaller as the night goes on."

The corners of Helga's lips tugged into a smirk.

"Dear friend, are you accusing me of limiting your drink?" Rowena feigned an innocent smile.

Her friend giggled once more. "Only if your cup seems to be shrinking too."

"I'm afraid the cup knows when we have reached our limit."

"If the goblet says it's so…" Helga sighed.

Rowena stifled a laugh. With a flick of her wand, the bottle disappeared and the two tipsy women sat back into their chairs.

"Next time," Helga said, "I get to pick out the cups we drink out of."

"I will remember that," Rowena replied with a grin. "Now I just get to hex all of the goblets in the castle."

"Not if I get to them first!"

The two women succumbed to mirthful laughter once again, pausing only to wipe away the tears pooling at the corners of their eyes. After they finally quieted, they sat back into comfortable silence. The next week would prove to be rather entertaining.

Helga awoke early the next morning, hoping to avoid any lasting effects the previous night could have on her. She rose and dug through her stores of potions, searching for a pick-me-up to soothe the pounding in her head.

Finding it, she smiled and gulped down the remedy. As the pain in her head dulled, she noticed a gold object sitting in her doorway. Curiously, she walked over to pick it up.

It was a goblet – beautifully crafted in what appeared to be solid gold. Her seal, a badger, adorned the spot between two curved handles. A note shot out of the top at her touch, and she caught it as it fluttered to the ground. Upon reading it, Helga began her day with more laughter.

_Found your favourite serving goblet and modified it all for you - just in case you want another drink and I'm not around to control it. _

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><p><strong>As usual, constructive critique is always welcomed. Let me know by tomorrow if any of you want to see Ravenclaw or Slytherin next!<br>**


	3. Ravenclaw's Diadem

**Since Slytherin's was the most fun to write, I'm posting Ravenclaw first. This ones a little dark, but nothing too extreme. There's details that I had to leave out, due to word limitations (I think upper limit was 500). Seeing as this was received very well in the challenge, I figured that I wouldn't edit this to include more details and leave it as it was originally done. **

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><p>Rowena Ravenclaw despised her mother's tiara.<p>

The twisted piece of metalwork was never far away. Usually, it sat atop a tangled mess of black hair. The two of them were outcasts because of it. Nobody wore a tiara unless they were of higher nobility, and nobility would never wear one as worn and ugly as her mother's.

Secretly, Rowena wondered what the tiara had to do with her father. The mystery surrounding him was about as solid as that of her mother's affliction with the thing.

"I will never have the wisdom of my little Rowena," her mother would say when asked about it. "So I have to wear my crown."

Those words never made sense to an intellectual like Rowena. A crown could not give knowledge. She was smart enough to see the failure of logic, but her mother would never give in.

Even when the cough came, the crown stayed under a blanket with her mother. Rowena became her caregiver, waiting patiently for the illness to pass.

It never did.

The man came to take Rowena away just a few hours after the haunting silence filled the house. He appeared at the door, as if out of thin air.

"Don't be afraid," he said softly to the frightened girl. "I knew your father. He was a great wizard. You will be a great witch."

The man, soon known to her as Ivor, took her away from the sleepy village by the shore and introduced her into a world of, quite literally, magic. The world was soon hers for the taking.

"Your mother was not the same after your father was murdered," Ivor once stated, explaining her father's persecution as a wizard. "She moved on, gave up a magical life. I always kept an eye on you, though. Any blood of your father's is of good blood."

No truer words could have been stated – she was a great witch.

Years later, on the eve on Ivor's death, Rowena received a package by owl. Wrapped beneath the layers of parchment was her mother's tiara, as old and twisted as she had left it.

_I do not have much time left. I took this to remember your father, the craftsman who made this. It was a gift for your mother. It is yours now._

Rowena sat back in her chair, her heart sinking as any long-time loathing towards the object faded. This tiara was a symbol of love that never got to be – a tale of two stolen lives.

Carefully, she took out her wand and began stripping the metal, polishing and shining until the wings took shape for the first time in decades. She took stones from her jewelry, carefully attaching them to her prize.

An image was coming into focus.

"I'll give you wisdom, Mother," she whispered.

It may take her years to get it just right, but it would happen. Her mother's tiara would never again be the sign of an outcast.

It would be a treasure.

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><p><strong>Once again, thanks for sticking around to read this! I am always open to constructive critique. Slytherin's will be up next time I get the chance (soon). <strong>


	4. Slytherin's Locket

**I'd like to take a second to thank Voldy's pink teddy, who has taken the time to review every chapter, and I always love to know what people think of my little drabblings.  
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**A day late, but hopefully not anything short of great (haha). This one was by far my favorite to write, even though my Gryffindor and Ravenclaw drabbles did better in the competition. **

** Last but not least, dear Slytherin. **

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><p>Smoke rose in wispy strings from every wooden log left of the shack. Small flames still licked the edge of the grass, trying to catch a dry patch to feed on. Where a small house once stood, a pile of rubble remained. Where a shelf once belonged, a single man stood.<p>

The man dug quietly through the ashes, brushing away the charred remains to find his prize. With a flick of his wand, the debris would scatter, and he would continue his search. A glitter in the morning sun caught his attention.

"Ah," he said, picking up the undamaged article. "There you are."

He turned the locket over in his hands a few times. This was it – his locket – indestructible to almost all known magic. How could those Muggles believe that they could hide his prize?

For ten years the memory of losing his family heirloom haunted him. A Muggle boy, no older than he was at the time, had taken it right out of his hand as he made his way through a busy Muggle market to meet a teacher. The fool! Salazar Slytherin may have been young, unable to perform magic and chase him, but he would never forget that face.

It took another decade to track down the thief. He was in a desolate corner of a war-ravaged village, pillaging for the remaining treasures of the deceased.

"I sold it, I sold it!" the man cried as Salazar dug through the memories of a thief. "It's not here!"

The memories proved truthful to his statement, and Salazar had another lead as to where his treasure was. Still, no thief of this magnitude would go away unpunished. He was dead before he could squeak out where he last saw the locket.

No matter, Salazar had a pretty good way with minds, and Muggles were particularly easy to crack. Just a few more years of tracking brought him to the house, standing alone by a thick forest.

Salazar had not bothered with these Muggles, for they were as filthy for having the locket as the thief was for stealing it. A ring of fire surrounded the house, and Salazar had left it to burn well into the morning before he returned.

As his fingers traced the S engraved on the front, he again considered the long journey that had just come to an end. The guilty parties had paid the price. He was free of the burden that the missing heirloom had brought upon him. It was time to return to his school, to his students.

As he walked away from the rubble, he vowed that no spawn of such filth would ever enter the doors of his school. Ideas were brewing in his head, and they would last until long after he was gone.

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><p><strong>So, with that, this story is a wrap. Thank you all for reading, and all reviews are read and will receive a response! :] <strong>


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